


Here's Looking at You

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, June is awesome, Spoilers for 6.06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>June has a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's Looking at You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to mergatrude for help finding a title.

June wore a hat with a short dark veil to the inquest. It was a necessary affectation; she didn't want to risk betraying her true feelings.

Peter and Elizabeth Burke were huddled together in the front row except when Peter was giving his testimony. The other agents from the White Collar division sat behind them. 

June stationed herself near the back, gripping her purse and handkerchief tightly. She was alone. Mozzie had declared the whole proceeding a bureaucratic idiocy and angrily refused to attend. June suspected her own faith would have wavered if she'd seen what he had seen. Fortunately, she hadn't, and she had Neal's last words to sustain her: he'd said _I love you._

Ultimately, based on witness statements, ballistics, the known history between Keller and Neal, and the autopsy, the Deputy Chief Medical Examiner declared that Neal George Caffrey had been murdered by Matthew Keller firing a single gunshot into his chest, tearing his aorta and causing him to bleed out on the way to the hospital. It was a grisly ruling, and somewhat pointless given Keller was in the morgue, but June supposed it provided a measure of closure for the assembled agents. The proceedings were adjourned. 

June moved to follow the Medical Examiner, Mr. Fulton, to speak with him privately, but she was intercepted by Elizabeth Burke, arms outstretched. Elizabeth's face was strained but composed, and she clutched June's hands with cold fingers. June pitied her lack of faith and disguised her own composure by adding a tremor to her voice. "It's so dreadful, I don't quite know how I shall manage. Of course Mozzie is some comfort, but it isn't the same."

"Oh, June." Elizabeth bit her lips together for a moment and her grip tightened. "If there's anything Peter and I can do, anything at all."

"Thank you, my dear." June didn't return the offer. She liked the Burkes, but they were no longer her concern. "The house is so empty now, I may leave town for a while. My daughter Cindy is studying at the Sorbonne, you know."

Elizabeth gave her a sad smile. "I'm sure a change of scenery..."

"Yes," said June, looking past her. "Would you excuse me." But she'd missed her chance for a discreet word with Mr. Fulton. She'd have to broach him in his office.

 

*

 

Fulton's office was severe and respectable, and the man radiated an integrity and kindness reminiscent of Peter Burke. "Please have a seat."

June experienced an uncomfortable twist of doubt. She sat. "I'd like to see Neal's body."

She meant to sound haughty and authoritative but knew as soon as she uttered the words that she hadn't pulled it off. Luckily, Fulton wasn't paying her much attention. "If there's an open casket at the funeral, ma'am, then—" he started.

"No. I wish to see him now." That was better.

"I understand it's a difficult time, Mrs. Ellington, but—" Fulton began to bluster about procedure, about funeral parlors and embalming and government regulations. He was a bureaucrat, through and through. It was unlikely Neal could have paid him off. 

June interrupted. "Thank you, Mr. Fulton, I understand. I'll find a funeral parlor, and they will contact your office. Who was the pathologist?"

"Oh, you can leave that to your funeral director. They're used to dealing with my staff," said Fulton kindly, but June didn't budge, and he finally relented and reached for the stack of files next to his computer monitor, extracted one and consulted it. "Marianne Doughty," he said. "Your funeral director can contact her directly if they have any questions, but it's rarely necessary."

"Thank you." June rose to her feet and shook his hand coolly.

Outside, she caught the eye of an ambulance driver who was parked in a service way, and he rolled down his window to check she was all right. When she said was looking for Marianne Doughty, he recognized the name and directed her around back of the city morgue, where the woman was taking a smoking break. She was alone, leaning against a brick wall next to an empty hearse.

June didn't comment on the cigarette. She respected a person's right to make an informed decision, and if anyone was informed about the evils of smoking, it had to be a pathologist. "I'm a friend of Neal Caffrey," she said, removing her hat, "and you're Marianne Doughty, the pathologist. I want to see the body."

Doughty gave an apologetic grimace. "I'm real sorry, but there was a mix-up with the paperwork. He's been cremated already."

The tension in June's shoulders eased. This was exactly what she'd hoped. "Whatever Neal paid you, I'll double it in exchange for everything you know."

Doughty's demeanor cooled instantly. "I don't take bribes." She darted her cigarette butt into the gutter and turned to go.

"I don't want to cause you any trouble, I promise you," said June. "I just want to know he's all right. Please." She let her voice quaver and break, an elderly lady in deep emotional distress. 

Doughty halted and looked around, obviously worried someone would overhear them. "Listen, whatever you think's going on, it's not. I'm sorry, but your friend is dead."

"Ten thousand dollars," said June. "Twenty. Cash. No one needs to know."

Doughty hesitated. "For twenty grand, what makes you think I wouldn't spin you a line?"

"Because you're smarter than that," said June sharply.

Doughty stiffened. "Well, you're wrong. Neal didn't give me money, and I don't want yours either. I could lose my job just for having this conversation."

Neal. She'd said Neal.

She started to walk away. June gripped her purse full of useless bundles of unmarked cash and called after her, as loudly as she dared, "What did he give you, if it wasn't money?"

"Information," said Doughty without turning back. "Now leave me alone."

 

*

 

June ordered a pastry with her third cup of coffee and turned to chapter twelve of her mystery novel, looking up from time to time to watch tourists cross the road on their way to the Louvre. It was her fourth day camped out at Café Tabac, and the staff had transitioned from polite to baffled, with one waiter repeatedly trying to convince her to see the sights of Paris, but she was seated on the pavement across the road from France's most famous museum and there was a news agent a few doors down selling international newspapers including The New York Times. It was the perfect location. She would not be moved. 

The pastry was delicious. The morning passed. Around one-thirty, when she was half-way through the denouement in her book, Neal sat down beside her and placed his hat on the table. "Well," he said. "This is a surprise."

"Not to me." June beamed and closed her book. "Hello, darling."

His expression was grim. "June, you shouldn't be here. How did you know?"

"I was married to a con for 43 years, and any time he said, 'I love you,' I knew he was planning something."

Neal let out a long sigh. "I should have followed the rules: no goodbyes." He looked across the road, at the people passing. "Did Moz send you?"

"Not at all. Your performance was very convincing. Everyone else is devastated." 

Neal winced but didn't reply, and June studied him, noting his thin cheeks and the way his hair curled against his collar. He was putting a fine face on it, but Neal Caffrey was not meant to be alone. 

"Officially I'm visiting Cindy at the Sorbonne," she told him. "I needed a change of scenery after the tragedy of your untimely demise, and I haven't spent nearly enough time traveling over the last few years."

Neal's mouth curved. "I know the feeling."

"And here we are." The waiter brought Neal's coffee, and June touched her cup to his in a toast and settled back in her seat. "So, what's the plan? If you're going back to the life—I've always thought two-person cons were more elegant, don't you agree?" She held up her hand. "Now, don't deny me. Who else would let me join their crew? And if you've lost your taste for crime, I'm sure I can make us both comfortable. We could go to the Riviera."

Neal shook his head. "That's extremely generous, but you're not safe with me. I'm sorry, June, you have to go home."

June put down her cup and took both of his hands in hers. She gave him her most regal glare. "Listen to me very carefully, young man. I don't have much time left in this life, and I won't waste the few good years I have left sitting around moping. I want to have some fun, and I expect you to provide it. I'm counting on you."

He opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it again. Speechless. That was one for the history books.

"Besides, I have hostages," said June, playing her ace. "I brought your clothes."

 

END


End file.
